


An Imperfectly Suppressed Fascination

by BadHatSaleswoman



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Curious Agatha, F/M, Fellatio, Just a bit of fun, Laaaadies I take requests, Masturbation, Menstrual Sex, Menstrual blood, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot, Porn, Smut, period masturbation, sex for science, suspend your disbelief enough to enjoy the porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadHatSaleswoman/pseuds/BadHatSaleswoman
Summary: Consciousness in the dreamstate is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you never want it to end. On the other, the life force is being drained from you by a blood-sucking monster. In the final moments before she awakens out of the dreamstate, she wonders - every time, without fail - if she wouldn’t rather remain in the dream.--Agatha tests Dracula's limitations aboard the Demeter.
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Comments: 152
Kudos: 352





	1. Dream the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss of the vampire is an opiate. 
> 
> Six times Dracula feeds on Agatha - six times Agatha dreams. But what does she dream of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just an excuse to fool around with these characters! First-time fic writer, not to mention first-time smut writer, excited to be here!
> 
> Please kindly forgive any anachronisms or faulty descriptions. I tried my best. Feel free to correct, as well.
> 
> This should wind up being six chapters and I hope to update once a week. Suggestions welcome!
> 
> Just a note to keep the discontinuity from distracting you from the porn: In the dreamscape, anything is possible, and you may not be fully cognizant of the differences between the dream and reality.
> 
> If you enjoy it, please let me know!
> 
> I (accidentally) stole/adapted the term "dreamscape" from SanguisCaedis (TheAstronomer)'s lovely fic "There Will Be Blood" - if you haven't read it, drop everything and do that now: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174207/chapters/52935130

**_____________________________________________**

It never hurts.

The last thing she remembers is his head bending down, the blood-red eyes fixated on a single spot on her neck, the hot air of an emitting growl warming her as his mouth makes contact. Then the opiate - and, her scientific mind wonders, perhaps indeed it is opium, can he inject it? Where would it be stored? Produced? - takes hold, and there is only the soporific embrace of the most vivid, most seductive dream imaginable. Which for Agatha, of course, means answers. 

Consciousness in the dreamstate is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you never want it to end. On the other, the life force is being drained from you by a blood-sucking monster. In the final moments before she awakens out of the dreamstate, she wonders - every time, without fail - if she wouldn’t rather remain in the dream. 

For the most part, she forgets.

**_____________________________________________**

“Come closer…” Dracula beckoned with one clawed finger. 

Agatha moved forward cautiously, emboldened by nothing more than the seductive curiosity that had been her lifelong companion.

In addition to her accent, Sister Agatha’s height set her apart from her more modestly-sized Hungarian fellow nuns, and not just them. She estimated she stood a good five to ten centimeters taller than the average man. Too tall for marriage, that had been her mother’s diagnosis. Far from dismaying, this served as a welcome addition to the list of reasons that she would use to justify joining the church and avoiding the prison of wifedom. Nearly a dozen living older brothers to carry on the family name and bring in dowries didn’t hurt, either.

The man - the _creature_ \- standing in front of her towered above her. However slight he’d appeared from a distance, Count Dracula up close seemed positively colossal, broad shouldered and powerful in the flickering light of the abbey’s torches, though clearly not youthful. She estimated he'd been no younger than forty-five when he'd shuffled off this mortal coil. His forehead and mouth were lined, and the skin of his jaw had begun to gently loosen. The full lips of his wide mouth glistened, the thick, dark hair of his head and chest were matted in the placental fluid of his wolf birth. Distantly, it seemed, she could smell the sickly sweetness of the wolf’s blood, and something else she couldn’t quite place that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. 

Without hesitating, she met his dark brown eyes with her own defiant gaze.

“Look at them,” Dracula continued, moving his face even closer to her own, “Look at your sisters.” 

Instead of offering her any insight, Dracula made threats, perhaps testing her limits as she was testing his. To her own surprise, Agatha caught herself looking down, catching a glimpse of the limp flesh hanging between his thighs. 

Emboldened by his feeble attempts at intimidation, she stepped away, assuring the Count that her Sisters in Arms could not be tempted with the promise of eternal life. She was now satisfied she would extract little more useful information by way of conversation. 

Agatha let a smile cross her lips as she sliced into herself, showing him and her Army who, indeed, was weakest. Bringing him here had been a gamble, but now she felt certain this was a game she could win. 

“Do you think provoking me is clever?” asked Dracula, low voice strained, monstrous teeth fully extended. 

“Yes,” she said confidently, “I do.”

In retrospect, she would have done well to savor her moment of triumph. 

**_____________________________________________**

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a low voice rumbled, and she paused to take it all in.

Agatha looked out over the ancient temple ruins that surrounded her. She stood barefoot on the cold stone steps of the Parthenon, which seemed to glow eerily in the moonlight. Far below, the sprawling city of Athens with its pearly white houses, visible only due to the extraordinary light of the full moon. She noted in passing that the material of her long, flowing white dress was far more comfortable than that of her habit. Her breath felt sharp in her nostrils, some faint, sweet smell invading her senses. Elevating herself one final step, Agatha felt an enormous sense of purpose.

Directly in front of her was the long, wiry form of Count Dracula, naked as the day he’d been born a mortal, bound by rope to one long, thick column, his arms stretched tightly across it. He appeared somewhat less monumental in his current state of vulnerability, tied as he was to the leviathan of Greek architecture, though his features betrayed no signs of discomfort. Agatha briefly inspected his bindings - a thickly braided rope, not unlike those of a ship’s rigging, pulling back at both wrists, stretching him taut. His feet were unbound, little dark hairs sprouting out from the toes, his legs straight but not rigid. No longer covered in blood and gore, he appeared far more human. 

“Really, Agatha, the Parthenon? I credited you with a bit more imagination. The rope is a nice touch, though,” he added lazily, straining his neck to look at the thick cord tied around one wrist. 

“I can hardly think of a more fitting setting for my edification. I won’t have you slinking away before my experiment can yield results and I am fully satisfied. Why do you think you are bound?”

“Bound, eh? Is that how you like it? Oh, Agatha, you’ve always wanted to have me all to yourself.” He made a theatrical show of struggling against his constraints.

“I need your full attention, Count Dracula, and you have proven a rather slippery subject. Now, if you please, attend my questions with care and answer as honestly and completely as you can.”

Dracula gave a broad, amused smile, the teeth behind his lips retracted but menacing nonetheless. “Alright, I shall try my best to slake your curiosity. But in return for my cooperation, I expect a reward.”

“Blood?”

“No, for the moment I’m...”, a coy smile spread across his face, “...perfectly satisfied.”

“What then?”

“A kiss.”

Agatha hesitated. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm. 

“I won’t bite, promise.”

It was a trap, it had to be. Still, if there was even a chance he would open up, let her in, if he even _understood_ his own fascinating limitations and desires…

“Very well then. But you would have to be absolutely mad if you think that I will kiss you on the mouth.

Agatha relished the expression of genuine surprise that momentarily crossed his face, thick raised eyebrows generating a ripple of lines across his forehead, wide mouth agape. He quickly recovered, grinning smugly.

“Very well then. Ask away.”

Feeling very pleased with herself, Agatha ventured a step closer to him, her loose white dress shifting silkily against her skin in the invigoratingly chilly night air. 

“Count Dracula, I would like us to continue in our current vein, if you will…” She paused to afford him time to disapprove of her pun, which he expressed with an indifferent half-frown. “Most accounts of vampirism center around an exchange of bodily fluids, usually blood. My question is: which particular fluids are exchanged in the creation of a new vampire, or, should I say, attempted creation? Mr. Harker recalled erotic dreams of Mina - but could this dream have been masking other, very real erotic acts being performed on him? Do you have sexual intercourse with your victims? If so, what purpose does it serve?”

This time, he was prepared, and fired back with his own teasing. “Naughty, naughty Sister Agatha, what _have_ you been reading?” However, true to his word - at least for the moment - Dracula pressed on. “Blood is lives, Agatha. Nothing else is necessary to create another undead. However, as I’ve yet to successfully reproduce, I’ll be the first to admit that the intricacies of the process rather elude me. But, no, sex is not involved.”

Her untempered curiosity, spurred on by his seeming cooperation, caused her mind to leap from one question to the next. “Can you engage in sexual interecourse? Is there a desire? Is it the same as human intercourse?

“I do believe we digress somewhat. We were talking about reproduction - my version - and now you want to know if I can get a stiffy?”

“Well, can you?”

“What?”

“Engage. In the physical act of love.”

Dracula’s grin widened and he licked his lips slowly, savoring her delectable euphemism, spitting it back at her, each syllable dripping incredulity. “The physical act of love. That’s a new one.”

Agatha’s voice betrayed her impatience. “I notice you have not answered my question.”

Dracula’s grin faded to a neutral expression, and Agatha thought he might be deciding exactly how much to reveal. His mouth slowly widened into a wicked, toothy grin. 

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Dracula shifted suggestively against the column. “After all, you do owe me a kiss, and the organ of interest is rather far from my mouth.”

Agatha paused to consider her options. Although the shock factor of the proposed non-oral kiss had been well worth the lie, she’d certainly never intended to make good on her promise. Still, her insistent curiosity demanded an answer to her questions. It stood to reason that an undead creature should not be able to engage in the very act that created life, and yet Count Dracula appeared - in his current state, at least - fascinatingly human. Human male arousal, after all, was simply a matter of blood flow, and blood was something he had in abundance. Still, what possible reason could he have to engage in sex? Just for fun? To seduce or placate victims? She realized, with no small amount of horror, that she really, really wanted to know. 

Agatha locked eyes with Dracula, who was still smirking broadly, and, reaching out with one bold arm, wrapped her fingers tightly around his sex organ. Having never touched a penis, the experience was fascinating in and of itself, the skin delicately soft, and somehow loose? - _foreskin_ , her scientific mind provided. She squeezed, the supple flesh giving way easily under her fingers. 

Nothing happened. She looked down at her hand, an expression of genuine curiosity on her face. Raising her gaze once more, she saw the calm amusement on Dracula’s. 

“What do I do?” Agatha asked in a determined voice. If he answered directly, implicating himself, the whole matter might be settled without any need for her to continue. 

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” Dracula cooed. Unhelpful, but not wholly unexpected.

“That is not going to happen.”

“In that case, why don’t you...experiment?” His voice was calm, amused, and not in the least aroused.

She slowly pumped the organ with her hand, sliding its foreskin up and down the still-flaccid shaft, noticing with interest the thickness and relative rigidity of the head. However personally enlightening, her ministrations did not seem to be producing an erection. 

“Try using your mouth,” suggested Dracula, his wide grin sill betraying his wild amusement. It occurred to her that a nun attempting fellatio on a vampire might just be the most ludicrous thing he’d witnessed in centuries. 

Not bothering to meet his eyes, Agatha sank to her knees, bunching the material of the soft dress beneath her to shield herself from the cold stone of the temple floor. Propping the organ up with one hand and steadying herself on his upper thigh with the other, she swiftly swallowed him from tip to base.

Dracula let out a long, low, guttural moan full of pleasure and surprise. “Not bad...for a nun.”

Encouraged, Agatha continued, moving her head slowly back and forth, and as she did so she felt him harden in her mouth, slowly at first then rapidly, the organ quickly becoming too long to fully orally encapsulate. Above her, Agatha heard Dracula sucking in ragged breaths, fuel for the little gasps and long moans emanating from his mouth. Agatha began making notes, the distinct thickness of the head, the incredible rigidity of the shaft, the salty taste and earthy smell, the relative tautness of the foreskin. 

Dracula seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He began pumping his hips in time with her movements, forcing himself deeper, causing her to gag. Far from disgusted, Agatha felt a familiar heat building inside her. She thought vaguely that she ought to stop now, the purpose of her mission becoming blurry. 

Just as she moved to pull away, Agatha felt his hands on the back of her head, gathering and pulling her hair, thrusting himself deeper into her throat, his constraints having fallen away or...perhaps they’d never been there? She felt the sharp nails of his fingers digging into her neck.

It was then that it hit Agatha, as though a curtain were slowly being drawn back to reveal the blinding light of day. Her mind flooded with the abject horror of the realities she had been spared in the dreamstate, the boundaries of the world beginning to dissolve around her.

**_____________________________________________**

With a loud _thud_ , Agatha’s skull connects with the headboard of her tiny bunk. 

Distantly, she hears the _click_ of a door locking.

Too weak to move, Agatha allows the gentle rocking motion of the ship to lull her into a dreamless sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha awakens on the Demeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, a non-dream chapter! Somewhat shorter, but this felt like a nice stopping point. The next chapter will be up soon. 
> 
> Praise be to those who had similar ideas and whose delicious wickedness helped to inspire this.

**_____________________________________________**

Agatha awoke, her sleep-drugged mind slowly taking in her surroundings. The world seemed to be swaying gently back and forth. The air smelled of salt and blood and she was aware of a warm tingling sensation on her neck. In the dim light, she could make out a small, wooden room with humble furnishings - a bed, in which she was lying, and a writing desk adorned with nothing but two tall candles. 

_Swaying, small room, tingling sensation..._ _ship, cabin, bite_! So Dracula indeed appeared to be making good on his promises to take her with him to the new world...and to make her last, this final thought causing her to shudder. 

Agatha closed her eyes, mentally exhausted from the effort of maintaining her train of thought. In the darkness behind her eyelids, the ship’s swaying became a waltz, a warm, strong hand clutching her waist, a clawed thumb brushing over her lips, pushing past them, moving in, in....

She opened her eyes with a start.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She could move and think, but all of her movements and thoughts seemed to inhabit some liminal space between dream and reality. No sooner did her mind form one coherent thought than it was interrupted by some lavish fantasy, her moment-to-moment existence a series of mandalas with no past or future, only the abstract notion of events that felt as though they belonged to someone else. Had he drugged her?

For a mind like Agatha’s, the whims of the unbridled brain were a kind of prison. She resisted, breathing deeply and focusing with all the strength and determination of a woman who had devoted twenty-five years to the church. 

_Think, Agatha, focus_ ! _The bite_!

Yes, that was it. It had to be. Dracula - much like a snake - could choose to envenomate his bite when it was more convenient for him. It made sense - the kill was easier and less messy with the victim in la la land. _Keeps them from running away_ , she mused, doubtful that she could stand of her own volition. Perhaps some kind of hallucinogen? - that would explain Mr. Harker’s vivid erotic dreams, _something he longed for_. She smiled, relieved that her mental faculties had not entirely failed her.

Whatever he’d injected her with, it was powerful stuff, _good_ stuff; where he had been gnawing on her throat, there was no pain, just a mesmerising throbbing. 

It was then that Agatha became aware of an insistent throbbing elsewhere in her body. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers, snaking them around to the bulky material of her tunic and scapular, bunching them up about her waist as best she could, then reaching beneath them to attend to the very insistent aching between her legs. _Might as well..._

She let out a soft sigh as the fingers of her right hand traced the outline of her slick folds, the sparse curls soaked with her arousal. She let her knees fall apart, hiking the material of her skirts higher, allowing her better access where she so desperately needed it. _What on Earth have I been dreaming about? Can the Count control my dreams with the drug - are they always erotic?_

These were the last coherent thoughts she could form before her fingers, seemingly wandering with a will of their own, found her clitoris and began making slow, tight circles around it. Agatha moaned, feeling herself grow even wetter, the moisture dripping down her inner thighs and between her buttocks. Had she ever been this wet?

The finger circling her clitoris moved downwards, slowly tracing the length of her slit, pausing to dip gently insider her, teasing her entrance. The finger pulled down slightly, creating a stretching, open sensation, the air cool where it met her warm arousal. She felt the familiar warm tingling spreading through her. 

Carefully, she inserted two fingers deep inside, curling them upwards, feeling herself tighten instinctively around them. She gasped as her thumb moved to gently brush her clitoris and she felt the first involuntary contraction. She wanted to stay here a little longer, right on the edge, drawing it out. With great force of will, she stilled her fingers, breathing in the thick, familiar scent of her own arousal. 

He could pump her full of morphine and leave her to slowly rot, but, by God, there were some things she still had control over. 

Masturbation was of course frowned upon by the church. Our physical form on earth was merely the corporeal vessel of the soul, a temple of the Holy Spirit, its wants and desires a test of our strength to resist them. 

Having dampened her appetite somewhat with the spiritus sanctus, Agatha resumed slowly pumping her fingers in and out, her thumb barely touching her overstimulated clitoris, tapping it gently in time with the movement of her fingers. Her skin felt as though it were on fire, the rough fabric of her habit brushing tantalisingly against her sensitive nipples as she arched upwards. She felt herself convulse once, twice, her body tensing and her breath growing ragged.

 _So, so close_...

In that instant, Agatha heard the sharp _click_ of the cabin door being unlocked. She sighed. He really did ruin everything. She reluctantly removed her hand, attempting to quickly shuffle her skirts back down and, in doing so, noticed something very damning indeed. 

The guilty hand was positively drenched in blood. _Nice timing, corporeal vessel._

She instinctively shoved her hands beneath the covers of the little bed, although her logical mind knew this would do absolutely nothing to conceal her indiscretions. 

The cabin was nearly perfectly dark, scant beams of moonlight trickling in through the port hole above her bed. She could sense his presence, the familiar hair-raising sensation in the back of her neck. She heard the groan of the wooden floor under his heavy footfall as the room was suddenly illuminated with the golden glow of an oil lamp. 

Beside the lamp stood the imposing figure of the Count, immaculately dressed in fine, tailored black clothing, not a slicked-back hair out of place. 

“Do forgive my absence, Agatha, I’m afraid I had a very overdue German lesson with the Duchess of Augsburg.” With one sharp fingernail, he inelegantly hooked a piece of dangling flesh from between his bottom teeth, then slowly sucked the claw into his mouth with a theatrical moan. “She gave me some material I could really sink my teeth into.”

Agatha snorted. She would not allow herself to be intimidated. “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop that. It’s disgusting. Not to mention such an awful language. I can only imagine it tasted of adjectival declension and inbreeding.” 

With considerable effort, she elevated herself so that she was sitting upright, careful to keep her bloodied hand beneath the blankets. 

“I rather like it. It has a distinctly dictatorial flavour that I find particularly appealing.”

“I imagine you would.” 

“And, besides, I’m not sure you have a lot of room to talk, as it were. Dutch doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

Agatha let out an indignant _humph_ , noticing with relief that the effects of the poison seemed to be wearing off. She must keep her newfound wits about her and collect as much information as possible. She plucked at his vanity, a character flaw to which she had not yet appealed in vain. 

“Thoughtless pig! A vessel this size couldn’t possibly hold more than twenty. How many meals do you have left before you’re manning the wheel yourself, or did you fail to think that through? Have you no self control?”

Dracula frowned. With preternatural speed, he was on her, perched at the edge of the little bed, leaning over her and inhaling deeply, smelling her, his nose just a hair’s breadth away from her neck.

“Now, Agatha,” Dracula said, wrenching her bloody hand from beneath the blankets with alarming speed, eyes flooding red.

Agatha watched with horror as he popped her index finger into his mouth, closed his eyes, and moaned, swirling his tongue rapidly around the digit. 

The Count released Agatha’s finger from his mouth with an audible _pop_. “Let’s have a conversation about self control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this chapter, please let me know in a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Count catches Agatha in the act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took much longer than expected to post, but I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Thanks to all those whose beautiful stories helped to inspire this!

_**_____________________________________________** _

_“Now, Agatha,” Dracula said, wrenching her bloody hand from beneath the blankets with alarming speed, eyes flooding red._

_Agatha watched with horror as he popped her index finger into his mouth, closed his eyes, and moaned, swirling his tongue rapidly around the digit._

_The Count released Agatha’s finger from his mouth with an audible pop. “Let’s have a conversation about self control.”_

_**_____________________________________________** _

Agatha’s heart was pumping wildly in her chest. She felt lightheaded. 

The whites of Dracula’s eyes were now tinted red, fixated on the bloody hand. He slowly ran his tongue up and down the length of her middle finger, pausing briefly to lap at the juncture between fingers, panting slightly. As he slid the digit into his mouth, Agatha could feel the tight suction, the heat, the texture of his tongue. She felt the vibrations as he groaned around her.

“Sister Agatha, you’ve been bleeding.” Dracula said, intermittently tonguing the palm of her hand, “...and touching yourself.” With poorly constrained effort, he lifted his head to gaze at her with raised eyebrows. “I rather thought that sort of thing was forbidden.”

“I’m a nun, not a saint,” Agatha quipped, trying desperately to keep her wits about her. 

“Here I thought I might walk in on some ill-conceived escape plan, but this… this is so much more delectable.” Clearly unable to resist, he popped another finger into his mouth, sucking greedily, cleaning off every last morsel of blood before releasing it. 

Dracula leaned in closer, now whispering directly into her ear in a conspiratorial voice. “Oh, Agatha. You taste so good. What on earth got you so … hot and bothered? Any ideas?” Dracula stretched out the full length of his tongue and licked the scarlet hand hard from palm to fingertips, letting out an obscene groan.

The distracted vampire didn’t seem particularly interested in an answer, but Agatha wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to needle him, _to weaken his defenses, maybe catch him off guard_. 

“Arrogant pig that you are, I’m sure you assume _you_ are the cause of all of this.”

In an instant, his lips were at her throat, panting and inhaling deeply before whispering in her ear. “Oh, Agatha, I’m sure of it. You want me, you dream about me. I can smell your desire.” He darted out with his tongue and licked upwards along her neck, stopping just below her ear lobe, biting softly.

Agatha fought to maintain her composure, biting her lip hard to keep back a moan, trying desperately to think of a way to turn the tables...

“Even if that were true, you cannot shame me, Count Dracula. Dreams are a haven where we sin without consequence. And certainly you of all creatures could not be surprised by my … _fascination_ with the occult.”

He leaned back slightly to look at her curiously, the whites of his eyes flooded red, his irises still distinctly brown. “You don’t remember, do you?” There was something odd, soft even, in his voice. _Disappointment_? 

_Remember what_ ? Agatha wondered, scouring her brain for something useful. _Could he know her dreams as well as her thoughts_?

He quickly recovered, surety returning to his tone as he rumbled, “Well, Agatha, I will simply have to endeavour to make myself more memorable.”

In one swift movement, Dracula threw back the covers of the little bed and reached a hand up her skirts, his fingers sliding up her thigh, gathering the moisture there. He lifted a blood - soaked finger to his lips and sucked it into his mouth with a low growl. Agatha drew in a sharp breath.

“Walking in on a masturbating nun is treat enough in itself, but this… this is an incredible development. If I’m being perfectly honest, it’s been so long since I’ve lived with humans, I’d nearly forgotten you women do this.” He laughed and clasped his hands together, “How convenient!”

Agatha snorted. “For you, perhaps. For me it’s a bit uncomfortable, although I suppose whatever you injected me with has been helping with that. Which brings me to my next point. What exactly _have_ you been pumping me full of?” 

“Always so many questions.” He flashed a suggestive smile. “What would you like me to pump you full of?”

Agatha frowned disapprovingly. 

Dracula reached out his hand to delve beneath her skirts once more, but this time Agatha was prepared. She clamped her knees together and swatted at him with her hand. 

It was Dracula’s turn to frown. 

“Now listen closely, Agatha, because this does concern you and your … longevity. I’d like to make a deal that I think will benefit both of us. You let me drink my fill of your delightful little fountain, and I won’t pierce your skin tonight.”

“This is not a deal. This is how you have decided to preserve me for the duration of the voyage in case you eat your way through the other passengers.” 

“Yes, well, and I would _so_ appreciate your cooperation.” He reached once more beneath her skirts to tug at her open bloomers. “These, off”.

In movements too quick for the human eye, Dracula divested himself of his necktie, dinner jacket and trousers, once more standing naked before her. He shrugged. “You might want to do the same. Take it from me, blood stains are _not_ easy to remove.” He grinned down at her suggestively. “Besides, I’m curious to know what’s underneath all those layers.”

Suddenly moving in close, he scraped a sharp fingernail along the loose blue fabric covering her chest, slicing through it like butter, leaving one breast partially exposed. Agatha quickly moved to cover herself with both arms, shooing him away. 

Obligingly, she reached to remove her bloomers, stained a deep crimson, and tossed them on the floor. “I will keep the rest of my habit on, thank you very much. I’m already covered in blood.”

“Suit yourself,” purred Dracula, positioning himself between her legs, his own long legs dangling off the edge of the short bed. He leaned forward, the roughness of his chin against her inner thigh, breathing her in. 

Agatha felt her face flush as her head fell back against the headboard, biting down again on her lip to keep any sound from escaping. She allowed her knees to be parted and her skirts to be folded over on themselves and pushed up around her waist. She felt his fingers gently part her folds and the warmth of his panting breath between them. 

“This smell, Agatha,” Dracula groaned, inhaling deeply, “It’s intoxicating.” 

He ran his tongue up the inside of her thigh, tracing the line of droplets there until it reached the source, lapping lazily at the smooth skin just below her entrance. 

Agatha bit down harder, her arms trembling lightly. _Get ahold of yourself_!

The exploring tongue found its way up one outer fold, his lips sucking her in greedily, drawing out the blood gathered in the soft curls there.

Agatha could now taste blood in her mouth where she had been biting down, her hands clenching the bed frame at her sides. It was all she could do to keep herself from grabbing a fistful of his hair and pressing that warm tongue against her clitoris.

He moved to clean her other thigh, working his way slowly back to her core, lapping and nipping gently as he went. His thumbs moved to tug roughly at either side of her entrance, spreading her. In one smooth movement, he plunged his tongue inside her, letting out a long groan that vibrated through her. His hands roughly grabbed at her bottom, lifting her up to meet his mouth, pushing his tongue deeper. 

Agatha felt as though she might explode, her self control slipping away, allowing a sharp gasp to escape her lips. “Please,” she whispered.

Dracula pulled back slightly. He lifted his head to look up at her, elongated teeth stained with her blood behind his smile. “Please what?” He slowly licked his lips. “What is it you want, Agatha? I’m dying to know.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, if you are down there anyway, you might as well…”

“Might as well… ” He drew the words out teasingly.

“Bring me …"

“Bring you ... ?”

“Bring me to orgasm, you insufferable beast!”

“There’s that admirable Dutch directness, Agatha.” 

Even through the fog of arousal, a plan began to form in Agatha’s mind, hinging on one crucial detail. _If_ he could be aroused like a mortal man, then he could be distracted and manipulated like any man. If he kept feeding on her in this way, she could ensure that her mind was clear and free of the drug. Surely an egomaniac such as Dracula would have no trouble believing that she was lust-drugged enough to be compliant of her own free will. She could catch him off guard during an act of passion. _Something in this room would make a good stake_! It was all a matter of acting - convincingly, of course - of making him feel he had triumphed over her in a novel way that would flatter his insatiable ego.

“Count Dracula, if you can read my memories through my blood, then you must have _some_ idea of what I like. Prove to me that you have learned something about female pleasure in four hundred years.” 

Dracula accepted her challenge without rebuttal, letting out a low growl. Lowering his head once more, he began sliding his tongue lightly up and down the length of her slit, barely grazing her clitoris but giving it no special attention. 

Agatha allowed herself to moan and reached down to grab a handful of thick, greasy black hair, inelegantly trying to manoeuvre his tongue where she wanted it most. 

Patently ignoring her, Dracula lazily flicked the swollen nub once with his tongue before pulling back to gently blow cold air on her. Agatha let out a little cry as her hips bucked slightly in response.

“Patience, Agatha. One must never rush a nun.”

One of his long fingers began making slow circles around her clitoris, never touching, teasing. His face was all concentration. _Good_ , thought Agatha, _keep your attention on the challenge_. 

Agatha felt the faintest of sharp pressures at her entrance and instantly snapped her legs together, looking down at Dracula, who was beaming up at her beatifically. 

“Something the matter?"

“You said you would not pierce the skin! Those devil’s claws are not part of the deal.”

Dracula smiled wickedly. “But you want to be filled, don’t you?” 

Agatha’s heart caught in her throat. She swallowed her pride. He knew. Of course he knew. She’d asked him to prove that he knew. _This is your chance to find out about his arousal_! 

“Yes,” she said, allowing her voice to fill with genuine longing, “I want to be filled.”

“Very good,” cooed Dracula, and was suddenly gone from the bed. 

In an instant, he was again on his stomach between her legs. In one hand, he held a long, white candlestick which she recognised as the single accessory of the little writing desk. 

“I - I want … ” began Agatha, her bravery faltering momentarily. 

“You want what?” Dracula murmured, inserting an impressive length of the rounded base of the candle into his mouth, wetting it with his saliva. He locked eyes with her as he let the wax slide slowly out of his mouth. “Did you think I was going to fuck you?”

To her own embarrassment, Agatha felt herself grow wetter at the suggestion. “Can you …?”

“ _So_ many questions, Agatha. Let’s see if we can’t still that busy mind of yours,” Dracula purred, pressing the thick base of the candle against her clitoris. “This ought to feel familiar, hmmm? Candles can be such useful substitutes, when, shall we say, _the real thing_ is missing. A nun’s best friend.”

Agatha felt her face flush bright red. She bit her lip once more, this time to bite back a retort. She must appear to be overcome with lust. “Do it,” she managed.

Dracula let the candle slide down her slick folds to rest at her entrance, where he pushed gently, not hard enough to penetrate. Agatha moaned and closed her eyes, allowing herself to imagine that it was the Count’s hard length pressed against her. 

Agatha felt the candle slowly filling her, stretching her, centimetre by delicious centimetre. 

“More,” Agatha gasped, raising her hips.

She felt the as the candle was pushed deeper, pressing snugly against her cervix, filling her completely. She felt as Dracula’s tongue flicked against her clitoris at an impressive speed, this time in earnest. 

Agatha felt the building of her orgasm once more, the promise of release sweeping her up like a wave. “Harder,” she moaned. 

The candle moved deeply in and out with increasing speed and a hand reached up to cup one exposed breast. Dracula moaned around her clitoris.

She felt her whole body spasm, her muscles clenching around the candle. She instinctively bit her lip to hold back the sounds of pleasure, just as she might have done if she were back in the convent.

“Beautiful,” Dracula sighed distractedly, lazily circling her clitoris with one finger, riding out the last of her convulsions.

He slowly retrieved the candle, holding it up to his face. It was drenched her in her blood, one droplet racing down towards the wick. He set about hungrily devouring it as she had seen him do with her knife what seemed like centuries ago. 

Dracula tossed the mangled remains of the candle aside with an audible sigh. “Well, Agatha, a deal’s a deal but I’m afraid I can’t just leave you to wield that infernal intelligence.” 

With preternatural speed, his body was on hers, his thick tongue penetrating her bloodied mouth. His sharp teeth gashing her lower lip, then sucking it into his mouth. Agatha felt herself slipping. Sluggish euphoria spread through her like a thick syrup. _No_!

But not before she felt it, unmistakable and grinding urgently against her hip. 

_I can still win this_ , she thought, and then the dream had her in its claws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to the dreamstate, for more porn and just a hint of plot. Kind of proud of this plot development. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Just FYI: The dreamstate in this fic can bend the rules of reality, that is, externally imposed rules. Internally imposed rules, however...
> 
> In case that makes it less off-the-wall. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break! I had to take a pause to do some debauching of my own. Happy late mardi gras/carnival from your friendly New Orleanian author!

_**______________________________________** _

Everything seemed to be spinning, swaying back and forth in a surreal, hypnotic motion. There was soft music. She could feel it pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She felt a firm, warm hand at her waist guiding her, one of her own hands entwined in Count Dracula’s long fingers. They were waltzing, Agatha realised. Although it had been an age since she’d last danced, the Count effortlessly guided her movements in tandem with his own. The light was warm and dim, other dancers swirling dizzyingly around them but never coming into focus. Her body was tall but pliant, her eyes locked with his, the irises an opaque brown, his expression betraying nothing.

“What is it you see in me?” Though his lips had barely moved, his voice was clear. The room around them seemed to be pulsing and closing in tighter around them, the space between them narrowing. “The devil?” He smirked.

“Hardly.” Agatha decided that her best defense was honesty. 

“What then?”

“I see God.”

Dracula raised his eyebrows in amused curiosity. “Well, I must say, that _is_ a first. Although, of course, I’m terribly _flattered_...”

“ _My_ God, Count Dracula. It is in the devil that I have found my God.”

Dracula’s expression was inscrutable. “You know, Agatha, I like to think that we’re getting to know one another. To be sure, I cheated. I can read it all in your blood...I know your entire life’s story. I can tell you about the time you seduced a young Turkish convert who was considering joining the order.”

Agatha blushed.

“And then there is the matter of the candlestick, which I’m humble enough to admit I didn’t think up myself. And yet...there is one thing about you that I don’t understand at all.” 

“And what might that be?”

“Your faith. It’s real, I can taste it.” 

“I’m surprised you’ve given it that much thought. It doesn’t concern _you_.”

“Oh, I have given it a good deal of thought, Agatha. In my rather long death, I have never come across someone who posed so great a threat to me. I mean, killer nuns? Brilliant. Such a formidable foe is worth a moment’s consideration, don’t you agree?”

“My faith was lost to me for a long time.”

“And I revived it?” A proud smile was beginning to form at the corners of his lips. 

Though they were still dancing together, it felt as though they were circling each other predatorily, closing in. His face seemed to be moving ever closer.

“In a way, yes.” Agatha admitted with no hint of shame. “My faith allows me to live in service of something greater than myself. The loss of it was … disorienting.”

“So you went searching for it in dark places. And those dark places led you to me.”

“Just as your search for novelty has led you to me, Count Dracula.”

“Bold assumption,” Dracula purred, his voice barely above a whisper.

Although the room still seemed to be spinning, they had stopped moving altogether. Her back was pressed against something soft. _A bed?_ The dark brown irises now appeared a hypnotic black, his lips slightly parted to reveal human teeth, crooked and yellowing though they were. He was kissing her before she could react, one arm wrapping tightly around her waist, his body pressed flush against hers. One of her hands reached back onto the soft surface behind her to steady herself. His lips pressed hard against hers, catching her lower lip between his teeth, probing gently with his tongue, not daring to enter. 

Arousal flooded through Agatha. She wrenched her mouth away, gasping for air. 

“Some of us need to breathe,” she quipped. 

“How inconvenient,” cooed Dracula, sliding one hand up her back, scraping his fingernails lightly across her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He roughly grabbed a patch of hair at the base of her skull, yanking her head back. He ran his tongue slowly in a line from her collar bone to her ear, pausing to bite her earlobe. His hand moved to cup her chin, squeezing her cheeks tightly and licking her lips.

“Let me in,” he rasped, continuing his rough assault on her neck. “I want this. You want this. Stop fighting it.” He pressed one of his thighs between her legs, which instinctively parted for him. Even through the layers of petticoats, she could feel the warmth of him. 

Agatha allowed herself to lean back with both hands on the soft surface, her head dropping back, momentarily escaping the source of her arousal, breathing as deeply as she could in her ridiculous ball gown. _Whose idea had that been anyway?_

Lifting her head, she watched as Count Dracula backed away and smugly began removing clothing. First his ornate jacket, then his white cumberbund...

“For such a snappy dresser, you seem to quite enjoy taking off your clothes. I don’t see why you bother putting them on in the first place.” Agatha snorted.

“I’d rather be taking off yours,” he fired back. Clad now in shirt, suspenders and trousers, Dracula positioned himself one more before her, taking a moment to consider her, small breasts heaving. 

“And how are you planning on getting past all of this?” Agatha prodded, gesturing to her heavy, ornate dress, replete with tightly-bound corset and several layers of petticoats. 

“That is actually an excellent question. You’ve conjured up quite the resplendent chastity belt.” Dracula frowned and paused for a moment before sighing. “Ah well…” 

With all the aplomb of an aristocrat used to having his way, Dracula placed two hands at the front of her dress and ripped through it as effortlessly as though it had been a serviette. The bisected gown pooled around her legs, the wrecked corset plopping on top of the pile.

Agatha was left in her chemise and bloomers, her mouth agape. In one powerful movement, Dracula lifted her up and tossed her back onto the silken covers of - what she now realized - was a large four-poster bed. 

Crawling on all fours towards her across the sea of soft-coloured blankets, he growled a low, human growl. Smirking broadly, he grabbed her by both ankles and yanked her towards him, spreading her legs, his hands landing on either side of her head as he leapt forward dramatically. 

Agatha was once more face to face with the Count. His hair was tousled, strands hanging loosely about his forehead, his eyes wild and dark with no hint of red. 

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, lowering himself onto his elbows, his face nuzzling her neck, gently this time. “You have to tell me what you want, Agatha.”

Agatha arched against him, helplessly pressing her body as close to his as possible, a low moan escaping her lips. She could feel his prominent arousal against her thigh. She wanted him, drawn to him by a hormonal magnet deep inside her. She fought the urge to wrap her legs around his waist, settling for running one foot slowly up his calf as a kind of bizarre, unsatisfying compromise. She sucked in a deep breath. _The flesh is weak..._

“What is it that _you_ want?” Agatha asked, fingering the buttons of his shirt, allowing herself to probe the rough male hair through the little gaps. 

“I want...,” said Dracula, lifting to shrug off his suspenders and rip off his shirt, sending buttons flying, “to be inside you, Agatha. In every way imaginable.

“Why?” prodded Agatha, curiosity momentarily distracting her from her arousal. 

Dracula blinked. “You arouse me."

“Is that it? Count Dracula, it astonishes me that you have lasted this long. You really could do with a bit of self control.” 

“You really could do with a bit less…” purred Dracula against her ear, running one hand up her chemise to cup a small breast, flicking the nipple hard. “Do you have any idea how seldom this happens?”

Agatha gasped, arching against him once more, but curiosity again won the day. “I do not. Tell me.”

“Can we do this another time, Agatha? We don’t have forever, you know.” Dracula paused. “Well, on second thought, we _might_ have forever…”

“You digress, Count.”

“Oh, alright,” Dracula began, his hand lifting up her chemise. His mouth lowered to take a taut nipple between his teeth and bite lightly, running his tongue over the sensitive flesh. His hand snaked down beneath her bloomers, not bothering to remove the fabric, one finger dipping between her folds. “Agatha, you’re so wet…” he groaned. 

Agatha attempted to funnel all of her sexual energy into her curiosity. “Dracula. Focus. When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?”

Dracula sighed, looking up to meet her eyes. “Four hundred years ago. Happy?”

 _Four. Hundred. Years? But that would mean..._ He covered her mouth with his before she could respond, his hands clutching her hips tightly. The hardness of his chest pressed against her breasts. Her hands ran the length of his smooth back, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he ground himself against her. They groaned in tandem. 

“It’s hardly my place to tell you what to do, but I would highly recommend seizing the moment, Agatha. You may not have another.” 

Agatha had to admit that he had a point. “From what you have told me, if I die, you may not have another either.” She rocked her hips against his, watching with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth hanging open.

“Let me…” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. 

The wording struck her as odd. _Let me? It couldn’t be...but that would explain it! Some of it, anyway._ She watched as he fidgeted for a moment with the remaining fastenings of his trousers, his eyes fixed hungrily on her exposed body. 

“Let you?” Agatha smiled. She ran one hand down his chest.

Dracula began slowly stroking himself. Agatha could see a little clear liquid forming at the engorged tip. “Let me inside…”

Sure of her next move, Agatha struck. “What’s stopping you?” 

Experimentally, she reached up with one hand to grab a fistful of thick black hair, drawing his face down to hers. Dracula was practically panting, his tongue hanging out like a dog.

“Kiss me,” she commanded. “Put your tongue inside me.” 

Dracula wasted no time in grabbing her hair and closing the gap between their mouths, biting her lips and sliding his tongue deep inside. Agatha reached a hand down to stroke him, but found herself awkwardly pawing at his inner thigh. _Can’t say I’ve had lots of practice…_

Dracula broke the kiss suddenly. “For the record, Agatha, I don’t need permission to shove my tongue in your mouth, or,” he said, grinning wickedly, “other parts of you. Sometimes I’m just a gentleman.”

Agatha remained undeterred. She swiftly removed her bloomers. Grabbing onto broad shoulders, she wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning him at her entrance. 

“But it seems you do need an invitation for this.”

“Agatha…” Dracula moaned, rubbing himself against her slick folds, “Please…” 

Sorely tempted though she was, Agatha knew she couldn’t afford to give away this incredible gift of power that had seemingly been dropped in her lap. 

“Count Dracula, attend my words with care. You are most explicitly _not_ invited in.”

 _This far, but no further._

Dracula let out a low growl, the beast reclaiming the man, his teeth and fingernails growing sharp.

Agatha gasped as the warm world around her dissolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, PLEASE take a moment to leave a comment! 
> 
> Ideas/requests are also welcome, as this can speed up the writing process!


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